Rambles of England
by AnglophilicSins
Summary: Angst rambles centred around England, mostly USUK. R6 - I wanted to be friends, you wanted to be lovers.. Onesided UK to US, USx?
1. Don't Forget My Glory

Ramble #1: _When I fade, when I grow weak, I don't ask you for help, only that you remember me as I used to be._

**~0o0+0o0~**

"_England?"_

"_What is it, lad?"_

"_When I grow up, I wanna be just like you!"_

The United Kingdom stumbled behind the earth trench, a blossom of red seeping through his pants, face smeared with ash and soot. Tiredly, he slumped against the trench walls, sluggishly reloading his rifle, fingers trembling as wave after wave of pain wracked his lithe form.

He could feel his empire falling... His heart had been heavily bombed, his treasury bled dry, his Asian colonies were beginning to doubt his power as they succumbed to Japanese rule... Even as he locked the bullets in, he could hear Malaya cry out in agony, the little girl screaming in outrage as Japan advanced upon neighbouring Singapore.

"_I won't allow it..!"_

His unfocused emeralds trailed over to the youthful nation at his side, covering for him as he took a moment's breather. The boy's- no- the man's determined sapphires locked on the battlefield and his defined jaw set as he shot down their enemies. That same stance, the same eyes, the wasted battlefield around them... All that they needed was for England to be the one America was aiming at, and some rain.

Yes, rain would be good.

It seemed so long ago, when the little colony had last called England an amazing nation, someone he would want to become, someone he was proud to be the little brother of.

"_I'm not your brother anymore! Realize that, England!"_

And then... And then he was lost. And freedom had sure done the young nation an extraordinary amount of good, quickly amassing a great deal of wealth and an admirable military force (not that he'd ever admit that out loud). The other nations had learnt to fear him, respect him and his opinions...

"_Why can't I shoot? God damn it!"_

... While the Great British Empire slowly declined, faded into the background, fell behind his unwitting successor, stumbling as he tried to regain the lead. Proud as he was, England wasn't about to deny the reality of the situation. America was easily the richest country in these tough times, cleverly remaining neutral and using his immense wealth to 'help' both sides of the battle, profiting from them all.

Until Pearl Harbour, when Japan brought him over to the Allies' side, awakening a sleeping tiger. Oh Japan, yet another rising nation. He was by no means young, but he had been isolated for so long and had rebound with astonishing speed, quickly conquering Eastern waters and invading China. England's heart clenched with empathy over China's plight, though only able to imagine what it was like for China to be betrayed _twice_ by his former charge, he could imagine to pain of his ally as he slowly faded from the battles against his 'successor'.

_In with the new and out with the old, huh?_

He felt as though he and China were the white noises over the radio, distracting and annoying, unwelcome and detracting from the true broadcasts that were America and Japan. Lingering behind like an unpleasant odour with no source, and therefore could not be rid of.

"America," he began shakily, eyes still glazed as he attempted to focus on the ground before him, golden locks caked brown with the blood from his head.

"Holy mother of fuck!" cried the other as he ducked down, a single bullet whizzing a hole through the centre of his Nantucket hair. He began fumbling with a magazine from his utility belt, struggling to get it into the gun in his haste. Gritting his teeth in concentration, he finally replied, "Yea? What's up?"

"When… When I grow weak… Please remember me for who I was," in hindsight, he felt a little corny for saying such a thing in the middle of a raging battlefield to a guy who was only half-listening and probably didn't give a shit.

"Like what? A stuffy old fogey with too much tea and a tree up his ass? That's a pathetic thing to remember," America bit back with impatience as the magazine finally clicked into place, earning a triumphant grin from the nation as he swiftly turned back to the mayhem.

England snorted and managed a bitter chuckle. _Yeah,_ he grinned, _that's a bloody pathetic thing to be remembered as._ With that, the fallen empire picked up his rifle and followed his companion's lead, easily sniping down a Nazi unit despite the fog over his eyes, crazed grin set upon his weary features.

**~0o0+0o0~**

"_America…"_

_Beep… Beep…_

"_You used to be… so great."_

_Inhale… Beep… Shudder… Exhale… Beep…_

"America?"

The tired nation let out another shaky breath, slowly peeling back his heavy eyelids, turning bloodshot sapphires to the man at his bedside to acknowledge his words. He shut them almost immediately, a violent spasm ripping through his frail form as his overly sensitized pupils were struck with the intense hospital lighting.

"E-E-Engl-gla…" the former superpower growled furiously in his throat, exasperated at his stutter and failing strength, calming slightly when England's cool, calloused hand began threading through his lifeless locks comfortingly. The elder of the two sighed, settling back to peel an apple.

"You know," the Briton began quietly, "I always thought I'd be amongst the first to fade after…"

Another tired sigh.

"How could this have happened to you? To all of you?" Arthur's voice was just over a whisper, hands stilling and lowering as his head bowed in mourning. America didn't have to ask who the others were.

"It was a mess," the hospitalized nation tried, "there wasn't even a victor… Just a…" _violent coughing, curdling blood_, "J-Just a ceasefire that never ended."

The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, soon to become the United Kingdom of America and the British Isles, maintained his silence, not trusting his voice just yet.

"_You used to be so great…"_

"A-America… I…"

A strangled groan clawed its way through the dying nation's already abused throat, his back arching with pain as cold sweat broke out upon his heated brow. Despite his situation, America grinned cheekily at the UK, "I love you too honey."

A poorly stifled sob escaped the Briton's lips, and Arthur raised a hand to wipe away the sweat on the American's brow with his kerchief. With no small effort, the dying man shakily caressed his lover's cheek with a bony hand, brushing away the tears that fell from his golden lashes. His eyes snapped open as an anguished wail pierced the air from down the corridor…

"不要啊! 日本, 不要走呀! 日本儿! 日本儿! 你回来呀! 我求求你。。。 求求你。。。"

"…Japan's gone ahead of me…" America murmured with a playful hint of dissatisfaction in his voice, which only caused England's sobs to escalate.

"Don't leave me again… Please…" England hiccoughed into the rapidly cooling hand cupping his cheek, pressing it there in a vain attempt to give the man some warmth, "you weren't supposed to go first… I'm older than you!"

"England," America began shakily, struggling against the lead weights that were his eyelids, hungrily drinking in the sight of his lover while he still had the chance.

"Y-Yea? What do you- What's up?" Here Arthur hiccoughed again, hands tightening almost painfully over Alfred's own, except that America had already lost sensation in that region.

"You can't help, England," America began, wincing as this brought a fresh assault of tears to England's emeralds, "I'm fading, it's inevitable. Just- Just remember Iggy, I was pretty… pretty awesome once. Don't forget the awesome hero that swept you off your feet, you hear."

"You… You sound like Prussia… Yes, I won't forget. I couldn't possibly," a gentle smile crossed his features at the look of pure contentment that graced the other man's hollowed face.

"Heh… Like Prussia, huh? Perhaps I could… P'raps I cou' co beh an… uh… haun' hyu," America murmured incoherently with a dizzy grin dancing on his lips, his hand disintegrating from within England's grasp.

"No… no… Don't go…Don't…" England's hands were still clasped together, almost as if in prayer to a god he didn't believe in, his trembling arms resting on an empty bed.

"It would seem aru," a quiet voice at the door whispered, throat hoarse from crying a few moments ago, "That once again, all that's left over the radio… is just the old white noise."

**~0o0+End+0o0~**

_Chapter Word Count: 1436._

_Chinese Translation: "No! Japan, don't go! Japan-aru! Japan-aru! Come back! I'm begging you... 'm begging you..."_

_Review? owo_


	2. It's A Different Love

_Ramble #6: I wanted power, you wanted supremacy. I wanted riches, you wanted treasures. I wanted elegance, you wanted beauty. I wanted to be friends, you wanted to be lovers._

**~0o0+0o0~**

He'd always been called greedy by those around him. But he never agreed. Sure, every now and then he liked to indulge himself with two or three more burgers than was normal, but otherwise he'd eat "a reasonable four per meal, maybe five if he'd had a bad day." The others called him out for being the reason for the global food crisis. "But that's not true! He'd share if they'd asked! He was a nice guy, a hero every second of his life! All they had to do was ask nicely, but what did they do instead? Grumble and whine and curse him. Serves them right for having no food."

The others, especially _him_, liked to refer to him as the epitome of capitalistic greed, exploiting those who were in poorer positions than he for his own selfish gains. "That wasn't true! He was a firm believer of meritocracy and democracy, the only reasons he didn't share with those poorer than he was because they pissed him off or didn't ask nicely. It was their fault, not his."

Some, like me, called him a hypocrite for condemning colonialism. Twenty years ago, he'd have flown into a rage had anyone said that. Twenty years ago, his name would have been the United States of America.

Now? Not even _I_, as his right hand, know who he is anymore.

**~0o0+0o0~**

"Arthur, how's the situation in South Africa coming along?"

"Smoothly, Alfred. The savage's riots have ceased, and tensions have lowered to a safe enough level for our citizens to return to the settlement. I await your instruction for further action on the savages."

"... Well... Gather them in one place. Tell them that we are organizing a one-time community gathering for the natives to reunite with their old friends and family or some other bullshit to that effect. Burn them. They've been headache enough."

"B-But Alfred! Would not all their merchandise and crafts die with them? Spare a few at least! Perhaps we can convert them, an Honorary system or-"

"Just do as you're told, England! Remember why you're still alive. If you wear the favor I have in you thin…"

"Y-Y-Yes sir. I understand I have overstepped my boundaries. Your word is my command."

Click!

I don't understand why you give them a damn. As long as it makes money, it doesn't have to be special. Then again, you've always paid very special attention to details, to finery, nuances, and all that crap. But now that you work under me, you'll need to start seeing the bigger picture, England.

Although... half the land we've gained is _his_ after all, and most of our military might comes from him too. If he were to go against me...

**~0o0+0o0~**

To many, myself included, America is an explosion of contradictions. He is boisterous, yet strangely placid. Innovative, yet conservative; out-spoken, yet shy; insensitive, yet romantic; a slob, yet meticulous. To me, he was all these and more. A confusing, complex jumble of this, yet that, never seeming to settle with anything yet in being ever-changing, was being constant: predictable yet unpredictable. But most of all, what drew me to him, was how all these contradictions flowed together, into each other, blending in seamlessly yet messily, elegantly.

Elegance was something I strove for in myself.

Throughout the course of my history, 'elegance' has had many forms. From wild, golden-haired dames with fair voices to sleek-suited, polished-shoed men with smooth, low timbres. Every form elegant in their own right, yet with so many within me, I felt messy, displaced, clumsy.

Everything he wasn't. Everything I didn't _want_ to be.

Yet she was no different.

She had a thick head of tousled brown, accompanied by long, gangly limbs, a pinched waist, and silicone breasts. Fake, plastic, pig-headed, pretentious. Disgusting and _inelegant_.

Still, she walks into his chamber as though she owns it, her four-inch inch heels thocking dully against the carpeted floor. She lays a hand upon his proud shoulder, flutters her mascara-lined, extension lashes, and giggles through glossy, painted lips. Through those same lips, she whispers his name, and her tinny voice cuts through my ears like needles, like poison.

_"Alfred..."_

America laughs, a deep, resounding thing that tugs at the corners of his lips, his eyes sparkle with mischief and lust.

_"Hey, beautiful."_

I watch from the door, open just a crack, as he raises his gloved hands to her shoulders, gently coaxing her out of her shimmering, revealing dress, watching as it slides sensually down her bronze skin in waves of rich satin and silk. I feel a burning, and my vision clouds, still I watch.

America sweeps his eyes over her disproportionate, anorexic frame, and smirks in approval. He snaps off her bra and shoves her down onto his ruby sheets, assaulting her exposed flesh with bites and kisses, sucking and licking as he unbuckles his belt and tosses it aside. She moans like the wanton whore that she is, whimpering and begging for more, frantically aiding Alfred in removing his trousers and begins sliding herself against his leg. I swallow my rising bile, biting down on my fingers to keep my vision clear.

_"Be patient, beauty."_

Her garters and stockings follow its ilk onto the cold masonry, and Alfred eases himself into her. There is a moment of silence as both of their forms still, and my fingers slide out of my mouth and down my lip. America whispers something in her ear, likely a question, but her breathing is ragged, and her reply delayed.

_"You ready to go, babe?"_

As she nods, my fingers slip past the waistband, and I prod myself with apprehension. He begins to move, slowly at first, his breath coming out in short pants, misting in the cool night air. She cries out, in pain or pleasure - I cannot tell, digs her nails into his back, and winds her stick-like legs around his waist. A spasm rips through me as I push in and out, my head collapsing against the door frame and my cheeks flushed.

The scent of sweat and sex has permeated the room, but I'm too far gone to truly notice, I shift slightly and let that certain spot be stroked. Immediately after, I clamp down on my lower lip, jewel red blood oozing from the torn tissue and the burning intensifies. America thrusts viciously and rapidly, and I spasm in time to the rhythm he's set. I can feel myself nearing my limit, and Alfred is almost there too. He grunts in exertion, sweat beading down his head and chiseled torso, his sharp ceruleans go out of focus once more as my vision clouds. I see white, and a mixture of disgust and pleasure seizes me as a cry dies in my throat.

_"You're so beautiful, babe... So, so beautiful..."_

I slowly withdraw my trembling hand, and in the background hear her damning voice murmur sweet poison to the other. I scramble away hastily, determined to be as far from this room as I possibly could without leaving the house, and finally, the first tears fall.

**~0o0+0o0~**

I've been lying awake here for what seems like hours, staring pensively at my door. There's a slight shift to my right, but I pay no heed. It's only her after all.

The door is ajar. Yet empty as it stands, swinging slightly in the night breeze, it seems to me that there's a single figure, laying against the door frame, panting and wanking. Moist chartreuse pleading at me from beneath golden lashes.

And so I know that he's been watching again.

With that, I allow myself to slip into unconsciousness, safe in the knowledge that England still loves me too much...

However disturbing that might be.

**~0o0+End+0o0~**

_Word count: 1,432_

_Emm... If you're wondering why this is Ramble 6 even though it's only the second chapter, well... You see, on Facebook, I posted a series of statuses that were sorta like prompts and yea, these are the fanfics based on those statuses. I didn't write them in order, but by whichever struck some inspiration in me first. There are about 10 prompts. More may come, but we'll cross those bridges when we get there~ ^^_

_Review? owo_


End file.
